Roads Untraveled
by coldstone4815
Summary: "You know it's strange," he hummed, lips pulling into a slight smirk, "I always hated you people. Stinky, idiotic, always putting themselves first, selfish..." The other man turned to glare at him, mouth opening. "But," the first interjected, "I have found that they're just a few stereotypes. In reality, you humans aren't half bad." The second snorted and shook his head. "Sure."
1. Chapter 1

**-Chapter One-**

"So how did _you_ get here?" the dragon murmured, flipping the man up into the air with a wicked black claw. "I am sure I closed the portal, when the last adventurers came through."

The man screamed, desperately holding his top hat on his head. It was a rusty brown, and had two ribbons of light brown and forest green wrapped around it. The man wore a sleeveless, leather jacket that was tied together with strings. He had on a white undershirt, the sleeves buttoned up to his elbows, and had wrappings and strings around his wrists.

"Put me down!" he screamed, pulling a pair of aviator goggles, decorated with gold and copper gears, down around his neck. He kicked a steel-toed boot at the massive hand holding him by one leg. He had on skinny brown pants, and a gold-rimmed belt that held several pouches and a bushel of arrows. His crossbow was in one hand, and he fumbled for a steel arrow.

The dragon rumbled in humor, swinging the man. "You have not answered my question."

"L-look, smartass," the man shouted, letting go of his hat for a second to load an arrow. "It isn't everyday that I'm thrown into a portal, only to meet a fifteen-ton _lizard_ that talks!"

"I am _highly_ offended," the dragon hissed in amusement, shaking him just enough to make his hat fall to the ground forty feet below. "I am seventeen tons, not fifteen."

"Same difference!" the man snapped, then cried out and reached for his top hat. "My hat!"

The dragon laughed again, a throaty growl that echoed in waves. He reached down and plucked the hat up, waving it in front of the man's face. "What, _this_? Does the baby want its bottle?"

The man growled and stretched for the hat, only to have it pulled away. "I'm not a baby! I'm Johnson Wilbert Archepell the Third! Now give me my hat!"

The dragon laughed again, and set Johnson down. "So Archepell, what are you doing here? Don't you know that a vile, fire-breathing, man-eating beast lives here?"

"No! No I didn't!" Johnson shouted, aiming the crossbow at the dragon's nose. "I was just mining when these guys in black came and dragged me into a stupid portal!"

"Oh, so _you_ are my offering?" the dragon muttered, forked tongue flicking out to run over Johnson. "Scrawny, aren't you?"

"W-w-what?!" Johnson sputtered, wiping saliva off his face with a disgusted scowl.

"Though, I wish they would have sent some honey, or perhaps peanut butter. Humans are so delectable that way, roasted to medium-rare, and then slathered in butter and honey and peanut butter... I wonder if I have any around here."

The dragon turned and walked over to one of the tall, obsidian pillars. His long tail whipped the air, the spikes at the end gleaming dangerously. From Johnson's point of view, he could clearly see the muscles rippling under the purple scales, and the long, wicked, black talons clicked together as the dragon walked. His dark wings were folded closely to his sides, but the glimmer of purple at the edges of the black webbing was not missed.

"I-I-I don't really like being eaten, sir," Johnson called, standing up and brushing his clothes off. "So, if you please, I think I should be going-"

"No, you'll do none of that," the dragon murmured, and tapped a claw against the pillar. It opened up with a swirl of violet sparks, unfolding and revealing a whole hoard of different objects. For a moment, it looked like an opening to a different dimension. Johnson craned his neck to see into the vast space, which was definitely enchanted to look like a pillar. There were diamonds, gold, emeralds, iron, swords, crowns, and jewelry. There were even several pieces of horse armor. The hoard was massive, brimming with treasures from all over.

The dragon shifted away a bundle of fur hides, scaly lips pulling into a frown. He sighed, and said, "Well, I see a human-sized jar, but... Ah, I suppose that will do."

Johnson gulped, quickly fumbling with his crossbow. He loaded two arrows, and took aim.

But the dragon had disappeared.

"Huh?" Johnson said intelligently, looking around. The dragon was gone, as if he had never been there. And suddenly movement caught his eye. He aimed again, watching with bated breath as a man shoved away a wheel from a carriage. He walked out of the hoard, snapping his clawed fingers. The pillar closed back up with a clanking noise, like wood against ston.

"Here it is," the man said, in a tone way too close to the dragon's to be a coincidence. "I thought I'd lost them. Oh, you haven't tried to run?"

Johnson realized the man—dressed in long jeans and a hoodie—was talking to him. The man's face was hidden by his dark, purple-black hair, but Johnson didn't have to guess what his eyes looked like. "I-I-I-"

"What, am I not so intimidating now?" the man—no, _dragon_—asked; his head tilting to the side and a sly smirk growing. "Don't judge just the cover."

Johnson jumped when the dragon took a step forward. Without thinking, he aimed and pulled the trigger. The arrow flung throw the air with a _twang_ of the cord, and it struck the dragon's shoulder.

The man yelped and tumbled back, clutching the steel arrow. "Damn! Good shot, man. Try to aim for the heart next time, why don't you?" he hissed sarcastically, scowling.

He twisted it, pulling, but it was stuck. "Humans," he spat angrily, and tossed two jars towards Johnson. They suddenly burst into purple flames, rolling towards him like grenades. Johnson jumped away from them, loading another arrow.

The dragon looked up at him, cat-like, violet eyes gleaming dangerously. "Oh, so we are fighting now?"

"Well I would assume so," Johnson said, backing up as the other started approaching.

The dragon chuckled darkly. "I like you. It will be a shame once you are dead."

"Who said I'll be dead?" Johnson said, glaring at the dragon.

"I did," he said with a crooked grin, showing a sharpened fang.

Johnson had to remind himself that, just because it talked, didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. He was sure, under different circumstances, this would have been a very social person to talk to.

Under _different_ circumstances.

Without warning, the man leaped. Johnson cried out and stumbled back, finger tugging on the trigger. The second arrow was released with a _twang_, but it sailed past the dragon's head.

Johnson gulped and looked over his shoulder, stomach sinking at the sight of the edge of the island. This was it. This was the end.

And suddenly he remembered the sloshing at his right hip. He paused, looking the dragon up and down.

The dragon towered a good two feet over him, and Johnson was by no means a short man. But something tickled at the back of his mind; he remembered once, in a rainstorm, a strange, tall, dark creature with violet eyes—howling in pain and dying in the rain.

It was a far-fetched hope, of course, but it was Johnson's only hope.

Johnson quickly reached down, tugging the oilskin pouch off his belt. He saw the dragon pause as he unscrewed the cap, then reel back in horror when Johnson threw the oilskin at him.

There was a horrible, horrible screeching noise of absolute agony, and the dragon staggered back. The oilskin had caught him in the chest, quickly dumping its contents of water onto him.

Thinking quickly, Johnson loaded an arrow and aimed. He hesitated for a moment, then thought silently, "This thing was going to _eat_ me... I shouldn't be showing mercy."

The arrow was released with a _twang_, catching the dragon in the stomach and making him trip and fall into his back. And suddenly, with a wild screech, the dragon twisted and raked his claws across Johnson's left leg.

The man cried out, falling over himself. He clutched the wound, biting back a wail at the pain. He looked over at where the dragon was, only-

The dragon was gone. In his place was a flurry of purple snowflake-like sparks. Johnson stared at it in confusion, brow furrowing. Then he shook his head and staggered to his feet. He bent down and grabbed his crossbow, slinging it into the slot on his back. He looked around, then hopped over to his hat and quickly scooping it back onto his head.

"By the gods," Johnson muttered, "What did I just do?"

* * *

**So here's that story I was talking about. I hope it turns out good, so far I have a basic plot and the characters are pretty solid ideas. The dragon, by the way, is my main roleplaying character. You'll learn to hate him and love him at the same time. I know I did. He's the Ender dragon, If you guys haven't figured it out yet. I promise, you'll like him eventually. (Hopefully)**

**I hope you guys all enjoyed. Leave a review, tell me what you think. Let's hope this story goes smoothly, right? Thanks for reading, everyone. Stay awesome.**

**-Cold**


	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter 2-**

Johnson hopped over to a pillar, then slid down it and rested on the dry, pale yellow stone. He quickly reached for his belt, tugging off a roll of bandages. He slowly rolled up his pants leg, inspecting the four slash-marks there.

They weren't too deep, but stung like the Nether. Johnson clenched his teeth and quickly bandaged them, packing the roll away after he was done. He sighed and looked around, leaning back.

The terrain was unlike any he had ever seen. He was definitely on a floating... island(?) in the middle of a starry sky. One second, it was flat and barren ground, but the next, an entire mountain shot up to the sky. More mountains did, too, and blocked off half the island from Johnson's sight. It was cold and desolate, creeping into his heart and making him shiver.

The sky above was dark as the night, but little stars of pink, green, and white were sprinkled across it. The stars gave him a strong sense of uneasiness, though; it was like they were lost souls, ones taken by the Void that surrounded the island.

Johnson sighed and let his head fall back against the obsidian, trying to shake off those thoughts. Instead, he turned his attention to the recent 'battle'. (Even though it hadn't been much of one. It was mainly him just getting flung around through the air.)

In all honesty, Johnson had thought that dragons were mere myths told by moms to keep little children in bed at night. Like the fables of Him. But apparently, they were real. "They aren't dead after all," he muttered, casting a frown and a glare down at his hurt leg.

And suddenly he heard a warbling noise. Johnson started out of his daze and looked around, eyes meeting the large, obsidian-colored feet of another myth.

The Enderman.

Johnson slowly leaned back, adverting his gaze. This myth, he knew was real. He had seen one before—up in the Overworld. But it had only been once, and that was in the rain and it had only been a glimpse.

But now as he watched, more and more Endermen appeared in flurries of purple, snowflake-like sparks. Had the dragon been their ruler? Or perhaps, tyrant?

Whatever, it didn't matter.

Johnson slowly scooted to the left, and suddenly bumped into something. He hummed and looked at it, frowning. It looked like a button, but was painted to blend into the obsidian pillar. Curious, he pressed it.

And the wall he was leaning against suddenly disappeared.

Jonson yelped, falling backwards. The ground gave way underneath him and he dropped about 10 feet, landing on his butt. He looked up, watching on horror as the wall reappeared. He stood and limped over to the wall, desperately trying to reach up. But he was most definitely too short, and besides, the wall was already there again.

He was stuck underground, in a strange dimension, with a wild dragon out to eat him.

Perfect.

Johnson sighed and stood, leaning on the wall to his left. He looked around, spotting a doorway opposite of him. For a moment he paused, then plucked up his hat (it had fallen off) and started walking.

The walls around him were made of obsidian, and then the floors were the queer, pale yellow stone that was on the surface. Johnson walked, realizing slowly that the floors were sloped. The air grew colder and staler, and he knew he was traveling down.

It got darker and darker, until he was stumbling through the never-ending hallway blindly. The entire time, he kept his hand on the wall. Suddenly, though, the wall fell away from his hand. He stopped, reaching for it again, and realized that it was a turn.

With a shrug, Johnson followed it. He walked for a little bit, before reaching another turn. He went down this one as well. And then he bumped into a wall. Frowning, Johnson kept his right hand on the wall, and followed it, turning around and backtracking.

Only to take another turn, one that hadn't been there before.

He went down that one, never taking his right hand off the wall. Another turn, another backtrack, another turn, and another turn.

And Johnson realized that it was a maze.

There was nothing he could do but walk (limp). He kept his right hand on the wall, and followed that. He couldn't see, and the only sounds were his footsteps and his breathing. It was growing cold, iciness creeping into his ribs and twining around his lungs and heart. Panic was slowly worming its way into his mind, and his pace quickened slightly.

But it faded when he saw the light.

It was soft blue, with highlights of purple. It was a constant glow, so he knew it wasn't any kind of fire. Johnson stood there for a moment, debating whether he should go to it or not. But eventually, the cold decided for him. Light meant heat and heat meant he would survive. (Though, in reality, it wasn't all that cold. It was just panic.)

So Johnson limped forward, turning into the room that the light escaped from.

The obsidian walls melted away like water, turning into wavy, colored glass. Johnson looked around, eyes widening when he realized that he could see through all the walls of the maze.

He quickly turned his attention to the thing in the center of the circular room, walking over to it.

It was like a flower that was bundled up against the cold, bluish-teal petals folded closely around the deep amethyst glow inside. Johnson stared at it, entranced. He slowly lifted a hand, going to trace the black veins that ran through the petals. But then:

"Ah, ah. No touching."

Johnson jumped and whipped around, heart picking up when he saw the man sitting against the glass wall. "H-how-"

The dragon yawned and muttered, "Look, kid, once you realize that I'm not human it'll make everything better for the both of us."

Johnson felt indignation rise in his throat at being called a 'kid', but he swallowed it. "I already know you aren't human."

"Then why aren't you running?" the dragon hissed, one eyebrow twitching up.

"Because you're injured," Johnson replied, and gestured to the arrows embedded into his flesh.

But the man managed to chuckle, as if he wasn't in pain. Though, one hand did reach up to gently wrap around the arrow in his stomach. "I've had worse."

Johnson bit his lip and involuntarily took a step back, bumping into the strange pod-thing. And suddenly the cold vanished. He froze then shuddered at the feeling of warmth that coursed through him. It went straight down to his leg, blocking out the slow pulses of pain from the wounds.

He saw the dragon growl and jump up, despite his wounds, and then Johnson was ripped away from the pod. "I said," the man hissed darkly, flinging Johnson to the ground, "No touching."

"I-I-I-"

And he dragon sat back down, this time with his back to the pod so he was facing Johnson. It didn't seem to have the same effect on him that it had on the human.

Johnson scooted away from the man until his back hit the wall. There, he stayed, staring at the other.

The two sat there for a long time, both with their backs to the wall. But then the dragon sighed and said, "So, Archepell, what are you doing down here in the catacombs?"

"I-I fell," Johnson answered stupidly, then hesitated and asked, "You still remember my name?"

"I never forget anything," the dragon answered easily, shifting o he was sitting cross-legged. His hand was still pressed to his abdomen, and there was pain flickering behind his dark, violet eyes.

"You're hurt."

"And why should _you _care, human?" the man snarled, scowling. "I was going to eat you."

"Was?"

The dragon let out a low, hissing sigh and he leaned back slowly. He said nothing, but instead took to glaring at Johnson. He never blinked, and only his eyes moved.

Johnson shifted and looked down at the ground, fiddling with a pebble of the yellowish stone. It was strange; not twenty minutes ago, he had feared for his life. But now, with both of them stuck there, he didn't really fear the dragon anymore.

The human bit his lip and frowned, then looked up and said, "What's your name?"

The dragon's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, and he growled softly.

"I-I mean, if you have a name. If- if you don't, then you don't have to give me one. I would under-"

"For the gods' sake, human," the dragon said, lifting a hand to run through his dark hair, "Just shut up. If it's one thing you humans do, is babble. And I hate babbling."

"S-sorry," Johnson muttered weakly, shrinking back.

The two sat there for a few minutes, and then Johnson said, "I-I have a friend, who's a doctor, and she could help-"

"I don't need a doctor. Why should _you _care, human?"

Johnson's lips twisted into a frown and he said, "My name's Johnson, not human."

The dragon snorted and shook his head. Then, after a short pause, he said, "My name is Zurach."

"That' a..." Johnson trailed off at Zurach's stare. Then he crossed his arms and tilted his head up. "I was going to compliment you."

"Right. You compliment me on a name, after you shot me twice and poured water on my head."

"Well-"

"Archepell, you need to realize that, if it weren't for my injuries, I would have eaten you by now."

"You're just a big grouch, aren't you?"

"And you're a happy-go-lucky idiot, aren't you?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Yes you are. What is the square root of 81?"

"Well, I never said I was good at math-"

"I'm waiting."

Johnson frowned and sat back, glaring at Zurach. "You really are mean."

"It's in my nature," Zurach said, and fell silent.

Johnson looked away, out to the maze. He frowned and leaned slightly, spotting a strange structure nearby. "What is-"

"It is the portal out of this world," Zurach answered, drumming his fingers against the ground.

"Oh," Johnson said, shifted so he had one foot resting under the other leg. He looked over at Zurach, frowning at the arrows. "You know, I'm really sorry for shooting you."

"No you aren't."

"But I am," Johnson said, and shook his head. "You aren't half-bad."

"I really hate you humans," Zurach growled, eyes narrowed. "Your instincts are so dull; you can't even figure out who's the prey or the predator. Stupid, and blind."

"If I was blind, then I wouldn't have been able to hit you," Johnson pointed out, and Zurach growled. Johnson averted his eyes, shrinking away.

They once again fell into a cold silence; the only noise was a _drip, drip, dripping _of...

There was no water here in this dimension, Johnson realized. Suddenly, the dripping became horribly out of place. Johnson looked around, trying to figure out what it was. He sat very still and listened, slowly tracing the noise to Zurach. The human shifted, but hesitated, expecting the dragon to snap a glare over to him.

But Zurach didn't move.

Johnson stood up, making a noise of surprise when he saw that there was a dark, blackish puddle of blood slowly growing underneath the dragon's back. Johnson walked around, kneeling down slowly.

The serrated tip of a steel arrow was poking out of Zurach's shoulder, where the arrow had pierced through. Blood was dripping from the grey cloth of his jacket, staining it dark black. Johnson sat there for a moment, then slowly reached over and move the fabric, eyes widening as he saw what his arrow had really done.

"You know, you might think you don't need help," Johnson whispered, and stood. He shifted his hat and reached behind his back, making sure the crossbow wasn't going anywhere. Then, he bent down and grabbed Zurach, lifting him up.

Only to stumble and nearly drop him. Johnson grunted and set him back down. "Gods, you're very heavy. You look much lighter than that."

Johnson sighed and shook his head, rubbing an eyebrow. He thoguth for a second before reaching down and grabbing the dragon's arms. Johnson looked around, locating the weird structure that Zurach ahd said was a portal out. He slowly turned, and started dragging the dragon over to it.

He had to take two in the maze, and then a soft glow interrupted the darkness. He went in, and without another thought started dragon Zurach up the stiars. He only hesitated when he looked into the portal.

The darkness of the Void stared back at him, rimmed with the square portal. The glittering green eyes sitting in the holes seemed to stare at him, asking,

_"Where are you going? You only just arrived. Stay here, human, and meet the fate of all the others."_

But Johnson swallowed and walked the two remaining steps. His foot met empty air, and suddenly the world around him dropped into black.

For a horrifying moment, horror flooded through him. He had stepped into the Void. He would die now, slowly and painfully. He was dead. He had doomed both of them. They were forever stuck in this horrible, never-ending blackness-

And then sunlight broke through the jet black emptiness, and the world unfolded around them. Johnson looked down to make sure he had brought Zurach with him; he had.

He looked around, only to meet the faces of other humans. Buildings of cobblestone and paths of gravel surrounded them, stretching out into the village he had grown up in.

"Good job catching the attention of everybody, John," he muttered to himself, cursing his own stupidity. "Good job."

* * *

**My poor Zurach.**


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter 3-**

So imagine this:

You've been dragged to a completely horrible and unkown dimension, only to be called a psychotic dragon's sacrifice. Said dragon then says he's going to eat you, but wants some condiments to go along with you. But then you find out that he's human(?). so what do you do? Well, you shoot him.

Twice.

Then you throw your water pouch on him.

He teleports away in pain, you get stuck in a maze, and you also have an injured leg to worry about. So you stumble around for a while like a blind badger that had its legs chopped off, but then you find him with a weird, glowing flower-thing. Turns out he isn't half bad. Well, he still says he's going to eat you.

Joy.

But then he passes out from blood loss, leaving you alone in a strange dimension. So you drag him through a portal, and find yourself back in your village.

That was what Johnson kept saying happened as he helped his best friend get the last arrow out of Zurach's shoulder. The other arrow had already been removed and the wound had been stitched and bandaged, so it was no immediate cause of worry.

"Ella, I swear that's what happened," Johnson told the doctor, handing her one of the various tools that had been sitting on the tray.

_"Right_," she muttered, casting a green-eyed glance at him from over her glasses. "Like I'm goin to believe this man is a dragon."

"But he is!" Johnson protested, flinging his hands out. "I saw it with my own eyes!"

"You're the same person who saw a troll, John. And the werewolf, and the witch, and then you blamed Rags when _someone _released mice into the bakery." She jerked a thumb over to the Great Dane, who was sleeping soundly on a pillow in the corner.

"Well, I had to get rid of the cat problem somehow," Johnson muttered, crossing his arms.

"The cat was there to keep the _mice _away, John," Ella shot back, then hand him the steel arrow. Johnson sighed and took it in between his thumb and pointer finger, dropping it on the tray with a disgusted wrinkle of his face. "Gross."

"This man is extremely lucky," Ella said after a moment of stitching the wound. She glanced at the many scars littering Zurach's skin, wincing. "Looks like he's been lucky many times."

Johnson rolled his eyes and crossed his arms again, "Mhmm."

"That, or you're a bad shot."

"What?! I am not," Johnson glared at her, brown eyes narrowing. "How dare you-"

Rags suddenly growled, lifting his head and turning his narrowed eyes to Zurach. The dog stood, pointed ears lying flat. Ella glanced over at him, then back to Zurach. She jumped when his eyes snapped open.

Johnson, though, had evidently learned his lesson. As soon as he saw those bright violet eyes open and flick over to them, he grabbed Ella by the arm and dragged her backwards.

"Where...?" Zurach sat up, one hand going to his shoulder. He looked down at himself and growled, once again turning to glare at them. "Where am I?"

"Y-you're in Windrip," Johnson stuttered, then straightened up and said, "You're a guest here, so you can't go and eat everybody."

"Windrip?" Zurach's gaze sharpened and he growled again, swinging his legs over the table that he was on and stoof. "Sounds familiar..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Now, hold on. You can't just be getting up after those kinds of injuries," Ella said, shoving Johnson away and stomping over to Zurach. She tapped a finger against his chest and said, "Now, you're going to sit right back down, mister, or I'm gonna have to restrain you."

Zurach stared at her, face falling flat. He glanced down at her finger, then back to her, and lifted a lip to show a sharpened tooth. "Touch me again, _woman, _and I'll rip your throat out."

There was no hesitation in his threat, and his voice was even and calm. Ella didn't stir and, as if tempting fate, she tapped his chest again. "Young man, I am _thirty years _old. You're only nineteen at best. Now, sit back down and-"

Suddenly, his hand was clamped around her. With a slight tightening of his finger, six of her joints popped. Her voice cut off and she made a noise at the back of her throat.

Zurach snarled, violet eyes narrowing dangerously. "If anybody is senior here, it's me. I am much older than you ever will be. Now, when I let go, you're going to step away and go on with your business."

Ella bristled and scowled, then stood on her toes so she was nose-to-nose with him. "You listen here, _boy,_ I am a grown and independent woman. Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect your elders? Now, you're gonna listen to me and sit your butt right back down, because if those stitches give then I'll put them back in while you're still awake. It isn't pleasant, alright? Now, sit down."

Zurach snorted and crossed his arms, one eyebrow lifting. "And why should I listen to you? You're a girl; I'm not about to be ordered around by a girl."

"Uh oh," Zurach heard Johnson mutter. The dragon turned to cast him a sharp glance, to find that he was already shrinking away. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Ella, opening his mouth to say something.

Only to find that she was absolutely _livid._

Her green eyes were bright with rage, and her face reddened. She poked his chest and said, in a very dangerous voice, "Repeat that again. I dare you."

Zurach snorted and said, "Women are weak and are only good for breeding and cleaning. I am not about to be ordered around by one."

"Alright!" Johnson shouted, running forward and grabbing Ella by the shoulder. "How about we go outside. Rags, you watch Zurach. I need to talk to Ella."

The Great Dane snorted and padded over to Zurach, sitting down right on his feet and staring up at him. Ella kept glaring at Zurach until they were outside, where she turned and punched the nearest lamp post. The wood cracked under her strength, indents from her knuckles scarring it.

"John, you sure know how to get the douchiest of people. I don't care if he's handsome—he's the worst."

"Look, Ella, I was trying to explain to you. He's not human, so he's not gonna think like one," Johnson said gently. "You can't let him get to you. He's an ass, most definitely, but he's also too stubborn for his own good. Now, let's just calm down. If he wants to tear his stitches, then let him. It'll teach him a lesson, alright? And then you'll be proven right and he'll be wrong."

Ella heaved a sigh and muttered, "Fine."

Johnson nodded and turned, taking her back in by the shoulder. "Now, he isn't going to say he's sorry."

"He will eventually." Ella was suddenly nice again, a smile tugging at her lips. "But next time he says women are weak, I'll punch him into last week."

"Sounds good to m- He's gone."

Johnson stopped in the doorway and looked around, staring at the empty house. "Zurach's gone."

"Well, crap."

[...]

"Can you show me where the nearest portal is, dog?" Zurach muttered to the Great Dane, who was walking alongside of him. The dragon pulled on his jacket, which he had found lying on the couch in the living room. He had snuck out through an open window, and was already well on his way out of town. The dog, of course, had followed him.

Rags huffed and blinked up at him, shaking his fur.

"Yeah, yeah," Zurach replied, "I know you want me to stay where I was. But I'm perfectly able to walk by myself. I'll heal."

Rags barked and cast a sideways glance at the dragon, snorting. Zurach rolled his eyes and waved a hand. "Of course I can transform into a dragon. I just don't feel like it. Not with all these humans around."

Another snort.

"I told you, I can!" Zurach whispered heatedly, glaring down at the Great Dane. "There are just too many people here, and I don't want every man on the planet after me."

Rags shook his head, ears flopping and smacking his cheeks. His blue collar rattled, the gold coin giving his name clanking against it.

"Whatever," Zurach muttered, "Just stop talking to me."

Rags snorted and put his nose to the ground, then stopped when Zurach froze in place. He barked and turned around, watching the dragon as he went up to a map that was tacked to a billboard.

For a moment, Zurach stared at it with his arms crossed. Then he put a finger on a spot on the map, and tapped it. "The tavern. Then, here's the market."

He lifted his gaze up to the words at the top of the sign, which read _"Welcome to Windrip."_

But he stared at them blankly, and heaved a sigh. "Should have learned to read human," he muttered, and looked back at the map.

"Sir? Are you lost?"

Zurach turned and stared at a man, who stopped short upon his glare. The man stuttered out, "The name's Will." He tilted his top hat, fixing his tie. "I'm the mayor."

One of Zurach's eyebrows quirked at this snippet of information, and he held back a slight smirk. "Oh, the mayor. I am..." His mind frantically searched for a name, and he pulled one from an Enderman that he knew. "Dain. It is a pleasure to meet you, Will."

"The feeling is mutual, Dain," Will said, walking up to him. He scratched Rags behind the ear. "How'd you get Rags to follow you? He's usually right by Ella's side."

"Oh, um, she's letting me watch him for the time being. She's busy with a, ah, patient."

The mayor took the lie as the truth. He smiled and nodded. "So what can I help you with?"

Zurach turned back to the map and said, "Are there... Are there any portals around here?"

"We have a Nether portal, if that's what you mean. But nope, no other portals."

"Great," Zurach muttered, glaring at the map. Then he said, louder, "Ah. Well, any place to stay the night?"

"There's the tavern," Will said, tapping what Zurach had been looking at. "Betty makes the best ale around. If you want a room there, it's just a cheap three coins for this week."

Money honestly hadn't occurred to Zurach.

"Alright, I have enough."

"If ya don't, tell Betty that I sent ya." Will pat Zurach's shoulder, awkwardly having to reach up to do so. He was a short man, and Zurach looked much like a beanpole standing next to him. "I'm sure she'd give ya a free stay."

"So I should tell her..."

"Oh, she trusts me. She'll know who you're talking about." Will looked down at his golden watch and said, "Oh, but I must be going. I have things to attend to. Fare travels, Dain, may we meet again."

Will lumbered off; even when he wasn't in sight Zurach could still hear his heavy footsteps against the cobblestone. He let a scowl lift his lips and he muttered, "Next time, I'm making a meal out of him. But then again, I'd probably choke on the fat."

Rags barked at him, growling. Zurach glared down at the dog and frowned, shaking his head. "Oh, shut up. He was _bouncing _when he walked. You can't tell me he isn't overweight."

Rags huffed and sat down, staring up at the dragon.

"Don't tell me I'm rude. I _know _I'm rude. Hasn't it occurred to you that I do it on purpose, mutt?"

Zurach peered down at him with a light snarl. One of Rags' ears twitched, and the dog blinked, but that was all he did. The dragon rolled his violet eyes, glancing at the map before walking away. "I don't need your criticism, mutt."

Rags barked and jumped up, padding after him.

"I told you to stop," Zurach hissed at him, and again rolled his eyes. After a moment, he said, "And no, I'm not going back to those two blundering idiots. The woman got on my nerves."

Rags growled dangerously and leaped in front of Zurach, fur on his shoulders bristling.

"I'm not going to take what I said back. Look, mutt, all humans are a disgrace to the gods. Why they were ever created, I don't know. All they do is destroy, and pollute, and kill other Ender drag-"

Zurach abruptly cut himself off, and he shoved past the Great Dane. "Go home," he snarled over his shoulder.

But Rags just shook himself and ran after him.

* * *

**I told you he was mean.**

**Any guesses as to how old Zurach really is? And there are hidden references in here. Anybody want to find them? I'll explain in the next chapter if nobody gets them.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for all the support, stay awesome.**

**-Cold**


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter 4-**

"This is, like, _really _bad_."_

Johnson was legitimately freaking out.

Ella, though, was more on the calm side. "John, it'll be fine. He can't get anywhere, anyway. You can't leave Windrip without a balloon ride."

"B-but what if he knows how to work a balloon? What if he kills the captain, and orders all the crew to head off into who-knows-where, and- Ella, I just, like, released an evil onto the world. Notch will, like, condemn me to the Nether or something and-"

"Johnson Archepell," Ella said sternly, grabbing the curly-haired blond by the shoulders and shaking him. "Screw your head on right and think. Rags is with him, alright? If he tried to kill some poor balloon captain, then Rags will stop him. He's a smart dog, alright? He isn't going to let..."

"Zurach."

"He isn't going to let Zurach kill anybody. And does Zurach even _know _about the balloons?"

Johnson thought for a moment, then shrugged. "He said the name Windrip sounded familiar. Maybe?"

"Maybe's better than yes," Ella said. She let go of Johnson's shoulders and hurried back to the kitchen, pushing the tray of medical tools and bloodied arrows out of the way. She pulled off the white apron, hanging it on a rack, and grabbed the black trench coat to wear. She buttoned it up and grabbed her sock hat, tugging it down over her ears. "Alright, come on. Let's go find us a Zurach."

[...]

The tavern was a loud and noisy place. It was on the very edge of Windrip, so it took them a while to reach it. The planks of wood were dark, stained with rain and age. The sign hanging on the porch roof creaked as it swung in the wind. It read _Brown Ingot Inn. Open 24/7._

Zurach despised the tavern with a passion.

He stood outside the door with a growing scowl, listening to the loud music and laughter. "They need to all die," he muttered darkly. Rags huffed and padded past him, tail swaying. Zurach heaved a sigh and trudged after the dog, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

There was something about this place—something familiar. He had probably been here before. It was unlikely, really. He had lived a long life, so visiting a little town in the middle of nowhere was perfectly possible.

Well, it wasn't much of a _little _town.

As far as Zurach could tell, it was a very well-off town. The buildings were all lit with actual lamps, and most were made out of metal or stone. It created a horrible, metallic taste in his mouth. The humans were polluting everything with their smog and smoke and factories; the world was bound to be dead within a few years.

But the tavern looked old, as if it had been standing for a long, long time.

Zurach followed Rags in; his nose crinkled at the smell of ale and sweat, eyes narrowing at the humans (most were men) that were clumped around tables. There were stairs at the back right wall, which probably led up to the rooms.

The dragon glanced around, glaring at two men who looked over at him. They quickly looked away, returning to their dinner. Zurach huffed and walked over to the bar, sliding into a stool. Rags sat down next to him, tail whacking the floor.

"Humans," Zurach muttered, watching as a clearly drunk man tried to woo a young lady. Zurach grunted and shook his head, then raised his hand as the bartender passed by.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"A, uh, man named Will told me there'd be lodging here?" Zurach questioned, leaning on one arm. He cast a critical eye over the woman's overalls and stained clothes. "He said to ask for a person named Betty."

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes. "Typical Will, always trying to give out free things so people stay in the town. Look, kid, I need payment for anybody to stay in the rooms. Sorry if you're disappointed."

"And who are you, again?" Zurach asked, trying to hide his frustration at being called a kid.

"Oh, I'm Betty. Your name?" Betty held out her hand, wiping it on a towel first. Zurach shook it and said, "Dain. My name's Dain."

"From the elf tribe, eh? You don't look like it."

Zurach just grunted, letting go of the handshake. "So how much is a room for the night?"

"Nine coins," Betty answered, turning around to grab a glass. She filled it up with a fizzling brown liquid, then slid it across the counter to a man. "Ten if you want a window."

Zurach groaned and rubbed a temple, glancing down at Rags. "I'll trade you. A room for a dog."

"Oh, you got Rags with ya?" Betty leaned over the counter, smiling down at the dog. She flipped her black hair, which was held back in a ponytail, and reached into a chest. She pulled out a bone, tossing it over the counter. "Hey there, bud."

Rags jumped up and grabbed the bone out of the air, lying down to gnaw on it.

"Is there anything else I could pay you with?" Zurach asked, leaning forward on his elbows. "Anything at all?"

"Nope," Betty answered, though her eyes glinted dangerously when Zurach moved slightly. The dragon paused, then moved his hand away, which he had set apparently too close to her.

"How about an Eye of Ender?" Zurach asked, reaching into a pocket and pulling out one of the green orbs. Betty's eyes grew wide at the sight of it and she paled.

Now, Zurach knew _perfectly _well that these were a rare and highly-prized item among humans. He couldn't care less about the Eyes, unless someone had found enough to finish a portal.

But apparently, they were _very _valuable to humans.

Just a little trick he had learned for getting his way around.

"Th-that's enough for the entire building," Betty stuttered, then snatched it out of his hand and said, "Enjoy your stay. Have any drinks or meal—it's on the house."

"Thank you," Zurach said with a sly smirk, taking the old key she handed to him. "Thank you."

"Anything to drink?" Betty asked, turning to take an order from another man.

The smirk didn't leave. "Strongest thing you have."

[...]

"We've been searching for a whole hour," Johnson groaned, glancing towards the setting sun, which was far below them. "Windrip's too big to find just one person. We're never going to find him."

Ella sighed, folding her hands under her arms to keep her fingers warm from the chilling wind. "Let's just check the tavern, and then try to find him in the morning."

Johnson's shoulders slumped and he nodded, fixing his hat. "Why do we even care?" he muttered, kicking a rock as they walked up to the tavern.

They both knew the answer, but neither of them said it.

If Zurach hurt someone, or escaped from Windrip, then the world would have to deal with him. He was a loose cannon, however collected he might seem. He was still deadly; Johnson had seen that for himself. If the dragon suddenly decided to be not-so-civil, then they would have a _big _problem on their hands.

But when they walked in, and immediately spotted Zurach's dark purple hair, Johnson's worries skyrocketed.

The dragon was sitting at the bar, one drink in hand and two empty mugs sitting behind him. His violet eyes instantly darted over to the two, then narrowed dangerously. Rags bounced up and bounded over to Ella, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Hey Rags," Ella cooed, pushing her glasses further up her nose. "Did you make sure the big bad man was okay?"

Rags barked, tail wagging furiously. He turned and trotted back to Zurach, sitting down on his feet.

Ella stood back up and muttered to Johnson, "Should we turn around now? I don't think we will be able to deal with a drunk..."

But Zurach stood, pushing Rags away with his foot, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered away. There wasn't any drunken sway to his step; it was perfectly normal. "Thanks for the meal, Betty," he threw over his shoulder, but his face said otherwise.

"Come on," Ella said, grabbing Johnson by the shoulder and dragging him after Zurach.

The dragon cast a backwards glance at the duo and scowled, flying up the steps and going to the room he had bought. He slipped in quietly, closing the door behind him. "How'd those two idiots even find me?" he muttered, shaking his head.

It was too late now, though. Rags was sure to lead them to him. So he accepted his fate, and flopped down onto the bed. He crossed one arm over his eyes and waited.

Like he predicted, the door slammed open a few minutes later.

"Took you humans long enough," Zurach muttered, yawning. "And here I thought you were slw as a tortoise."

"Well, that was-"

"Looks like you're more of a snail."

Johnson heaved a sigh and shook his head, closing the door with his foot. "What are you doing?"

"I'm spending the night here, then leaving in the morning," Zurach said, lifting his arm and glaring at them. "So if you please, get out of my room."

Johnson was just about to reach for the door, when Ella grabbed his arm and shook her head, dragging him further into the room. "Nope. We aren't leaving."

Zurach sighed and set his arm back over his eyes. "Figured you would say that. But it doesn't matter. I'm leaving in the morning, and there isn't anything that can stop me."

Ella let go of Johnson and stalked over to the window, flinging the curtains open. "How about you take a look outside, then?"

Zurach sighed and lifted his arm, sitting up. He peered out the window, then started to look away. But then he froze and stood, taking four strides and crossing the room.

The only land in sight was far, far below. Clouds blocked out much of the ground, though, shrouding it from view.

"What..."

"Windrip is built on a giant mountain," Johnson explained, cautiously making his way over to the window. "It gets its name from the horrible wind currents that plague the cliffs surrounding it. The only way out is-"

"John," Ella interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh..."

Rags padded up, rearing back and setting his paws on the window. He huffed and looked up at Zurach, tail slowly wagging.

"Oh, shut up," Zurach hissed down at him, "I'm not going to say you were right."

For a moment, he watched the clouds. Then he said, "How would one leave this place?"

"One would have to have enough money to buy a whole balloon and its crew," Johnson muttered, crossing his arms.

Zurach hummed and held up a hand, a greenish orb materializing out of thin air. "Like this much?"

The pupil in the Eye followed Johnson's movements, the darted over to Ella. The doctor shifted, staring back at it with wide yes. "Is that a-"

"Yes, it is." Zurach clenched his hand into a fist, making the Eye disintegrate. "So what were you saying about a balloon?"

[...]

Johnson explained that not everybody could just up and rent a balloon. He said that they had to be a legal citizen of Windrip to even get on one. Zurach's mood had spiraled downwards faster than the two humans predicted, and when he turned to Johnson with a snarl, they knew he was ticked.

"What if I steal one?" Zurach hissed, scowling at Johnson.

"Th-the captain and the crew wouldn't let you," Johnson stammered out, "You'd have to get rid of-"

Ella smacked him upside the head, swearing under her breath. "John, don't give him ideas."

But Zurach had gotten this strange glint in his eye, and a wicked smirk grew. "What were you saying, Archepell?"

"U-uh..." Johnson looked away, then back at Zurach and blurted out, "One of the captains is my friend. I could hook us up with him."

"And what would happen if we got rid of his crew?" Zurach prompted, lifting a hand to scratch his jawbone. "What kind of balloon does he have?"

"He's a, uh, messenger," Johnson said, shrinking away from Ella's glare. He couldn't help it—there was danger nearby and his instincts said to keep himself alive. He had a feeling that getting Zurach out of Windrip would keep everybody alive. "He has one of the smaller balloons, only meant for holding him and maybe five other passengers."

"Perfect," Zurach murmured, looking back outside. "Then we leave in the morning."

"We?" Ella said, voice rising. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Well, Archepell says only civilians can get on. I'm sure that, with two trusted people, I'll be able to come right onto the balloon with you. That, and I could use a snack before going back home."

He stalked past them, hands folded behind his back. Zurach cast a backwards glance at them and said, "I'm going to go get a few drinks. As long as you leave me alone, do whatever."

"Haven't you had enough?" Ella replied with a scowl, hands on her hips.

"Ender dragons are immune to poisons," Zurach said, walking out. Ella turned her glare onto Johnson.

"You're the one who got us into this mess," she said, sighing. "If we get out alive, I'm going to kill you."

"I understand. Maybe... Maybe we could get rid of him somehow?"

Ella shrugged and glanced over at Rags, who was lying down next to the bed. "Hey, can you still keep an eye on him, Rags?"

The dog huffed, lifting his head and setting it on the bed. He stared at her, then closed his eyes.

"I'll do it," Johnson said, flinging his hands up. "Jeez, it's like assigning someone to watch a toddler. A malevolent, smart toddler."

Johnson trudged down the stairs, still grumbling to himself. He knew the importance of making sure the dragon wouldn't burn anything own, or whatever... If he could even breathe fire.

The thought made the human pause, and he paled several shades. "Oh Notch," he murmured, "_Can _he breathe fire?"

That would mean disaster for Windrip, if Zurach suddenly decided he didn't like the place. The famous winds would sweep the fire through the town, melting all the buildings and... No, that wouldn't happen.

Johnson looked around, finding Zurach at a booth in the far corner. The dragon was leaning back in his chair, violet eyes narrowed at him and a scowl tugging at his lips. Johnson swallowed and walked over, sitting down across from him. "H-hey."

"So let me guess," Zurach muttered, glaring at him from over the rim of a glass. "You're here to babysit me?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it _babysitting_-"

"And I am just a malevolent, smart toddler?"

"H-h-how'd you-?"

"I still hold all my abilities from my original form," Zurach said, eyes gleaming. The pupils constricted suddenly, thinning into those dangerous, snake-like ones that he had when he was a dragon. "I can hear for miles, if I wanted."

"I-I-I-"

"You're pathetic," Zurach said, rolling his eyes. "And, by the way, _never _call me a toddler again. I'm 4,037 years old, and I do not like it when someone calls me a toddler. I'll melt your entire town, if you do."

"With- with fire?"

At this, Zurach raised an eyebrow. He took a drink of the strange, bluish liquid and said, "What do you take me as, Herobrine? You humans and your stereotypes."

Johnson bristled at the mentioned demon. He cast a worried glance around and stammered out, "Y-you said H-His name."

"Oh, yes," Zurach said, and smirked slightly. "What, you fear the demon? Shame, really. That uncontrollable beast is the last thing you'll want to worry about when I'm here."

Johnson swallowed and quickly changed the subject, taking it away from the infamous demon. "S-so why do you need to leave Windrip?"

"So I can go home," Zurach deadpanned, staring at him. "The only End portal in this world is hundreds of miles away. So I'm going to sneak onto your friend's balloon and use that as a ruse to cross over the land."

"Couldn't you just fly?"

"And have thousands of humans on my tail? I'm strong, but I'm not invincible. Though," Zurach added, leaning forward with a dark gleam in his eye. "I can say from experience that: The screams of men—as my acid eats through their bones and living flesh—is the most delectable sound you could ever hear..."

And he waved over a waitress and ordered another drink.

* * *

**... Yep.**

**So nobody got even close to Zurach's real age, but there were some interesting things that I'm going to answer.**

**He isn't as old as Minecraftia. He's just saying ****_"I wish humans were never made" _****As in, have you ever wished that something was never made? He was just saying that he didn't like humans, and wishes that Notch never made them. Yeah, he isn't ****_that _****old. Which brings up another good question: How old is Minecraftia?**

**I honestly don't know. Let's just say it's ****_old. _****Good? Good.**

**And the acid thing that Zurach mentioned. In the Xbox version of Minecraft, the Ender dragon there would hover above the unfinished End portal and spew 'Ender Acid' onto the player. And then there's the whole 'Ender dragons are immune to poisons'. I tested it out myself. And yes, they are. They're immune to Instant Damage potions, and poison potions. So not only is Zurach mean, is an overpowered son of a gun.**

**As for any other references. I based Rags after Scooby Doo. Just thought I'd let you know that.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone. Leave a review, tell me what you think. Stay awesome.**

**-Cold**


	5. Chapter 5

**-Chapter 5-**

"Zurach, wake up."

"Go away."

Johnson sighed and stood back, crossing his arms and glaring down at the man curled into a ball on the bed. Zurach opened one violet eye and returned the glare.

"What are you, five?" Ella asked from the doorway.

Zurach hummed and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face away. "Say that again," he muttered, "and I'll rip your tongue out."

Ella audibly swallowed and turned away, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "Fine, whatever. Go ahead and miss the balloon that's our only way out."

Zurach stilled for a moment, then growled and got up, sliding off the bed. He grumbled a bit, managing to slip in an unnoticed insult, and shoved Rags away when the Great Dane padded over. "So where is it?" he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he followed the two humans and dog down the stairs and out of the inn.

"It's a little ways across the island," Johnson answered, pointing down the street. "We-"

"Island?" Zurach frowned and shook his head. "We're by the sea?"

"Well, it's actually close by. The mountain up there blocks the view. The drop-off to the west goes into pirate territory. Going through there is nearly impossible, so we're traveling over the sea."

"Perfect," Zurach muttered, and his glare darkened until it was a deep, nearly black purple. (Though it could have just been a trick of the light.) "Just absolutely perfect."

[...]

The balloon was a bright, vibrant red with golden symbols of strange, loopy-looking writing. Zurach puzzled over the words (?) for a moment, then looked down to what was underneath the bright balloon. A ship-like thing was attached to it with ropes and poles, which didn't look like it would hold up very long in a storm. It looked like someone had taken a boat and strapped propellers on the back of it. It was painted a dark maroon, with more golden decorations.

"Impressive, isn't she?"

Zurach's face pulled into his normal scowl and he cast a glare over to Johnson. "She? Looks like a big hunk of wood that could be torn apart in a drizzle. Please tell me that we have that one, over there." He gestured towards the much bigger balloon, which looked like it could probably hold him in his dragon form. Next to the mammoth of a balloon, the littler one looked much like a chipmunk in size.

"Well, she makes up for it in speed, Zurach," Ella said, walking up to the balloon. She climbed up the rope ladder, and waved them on. "Ivo and his daughter are down below, taking stock for the journey."

"It won't be long, right?"

"Maybe a few weeks," Johnson answered, "I checked with him an hour ago. He said we have to drop off some goods in the elven territories, then we can head wherever you need."

"Great," Zurach muttered, debating on what to do. On one hand, he just wanted to get home. The Overworld—it was a dangerous place. It didn't _matter _how many people he could kill, because if they were decked out in diamond armor and had infinity bows, he was doomed. Unfortunately, he couldn't just bring one of the Ender crystals into this dimension to help him regenerate health. Sure, he could probably create one over time, but that would have taken several hundred human 'years'. (Time passed slowly in the End. There was no need to keep track of it.)

"It's going to be fine. Rainy season's already passed, and it should be smooth sailing unless we run into pirates."

"Pirates?"

Johnson shrugged and went over to the balloon, climbing up into the boat. "Come on, it won't kill you."

"That's debatable," Zurach muttered, but heaved a sigh and followed him.

The dragon was, most certainly, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Which always seemed to be his luck, under any circumstances. There was always something wrong in his life.

He blamed the humans.

The boat was cluttered with barrels, boxes, ropes, and other various things that he didn't know the purpose to. There was a raised platform near the back, with an old-fashion wheel that must steer the balloon. There was a grate in the center of the deck, and he could see Ella, Rags, and two other people he didn't know.

As soon as he saw them, he determined that he _did not like the man._

It must have been Ivo, and the younger girl had to be his daughter. They were both dressed in red and maroon; the outfits looked to be suited for getting around on the balloon in high winds and storms, yet still looked comfortable. The girl had a small pack strapped to her side, which didn't look very full.

But the man—he just seemed annoying. His laugh was too loud, and grated on Zurach's senses. His mustache was too curly and too black, and his skin was too olive and he was too tall. His eyes were too bright and cheery. His voice was too optimistic.

He was too... _everything._

"Hey Ivo, come up here and meet my friend."

"Don't even go that far, Archepell. I'm not your friend," Zurach growled at him, scowling. Johnson shot him a look.

"You're gonna have to be more patient and much nicer, Zurach," Johnson whispered, "Ivo doesn't take too good to grumpy people."

Zurach bristled at that and opened his mouth to retort, but then Ivo's dark-haired head came up from out of the stairwell. He strode forward with a smile, hand extending. "You must be Zurach. Johnson's told me about you."

Zurach reached forward and shook his hand, muttering, "Yeah, I'm Zurach."

"I'm Ivo, and this is my daughter, Nadia." Ivo gestured towards a girl, who was currently untangling her feet from some ropes sitting on the ground. If Zurach hadn't known better, he would have thought that his daughter was a boy. But when she turned around, brushing a gloved hand over her forehead, her features were most definitely feminine. Her hair was a Peter Pan cut, swept to the left across her forehead.

Zurach frowned slightly and looked back to Ivo. "So when are we leaving?"

"Well, we only have to strap down a few more things and then we can head of," Ivo replied, that bouncy, optimistic smile still plastered to his face. Even his voice, which didn't sound exactly like Johnson's or Ella's, was happy. Zurach couldn't place why his voice sounded so different, and he pondered over it for a bit while the captain gave him and Johnson a tour of the balloon.

"Downstairs is where we all sleep. There might be a few leaks, but don't worry. If you find any, Nadia can patch them up just as quickly. The front of the boat has all the resources and everything we need to ship to the elves. So, I suggest you don't get into it," Ivo kept gesturing around with his hands, nearly whacking Zurach and Johnson several times by accident.

As Ivo showed them which room was theirs, Zurach lagged behind and grabbed Johnson by the arm. "Do you think his daughter would miss him if he suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night?" he hissed into the man's ear, scowl growing.

Johnson shoved him away with a roll of his eyes. "Stop it," he muttered, glancing into the room Ivo was showing them. "So is this my room?"

"Well, you see," Ivo said, rubbing the back of his hand with a laugh. "We only have four rooms. And I can't deny a lady her private space, so you two are gonna share this one."

Zurach really couldn't wait for nighttime to fall.

Note the sarcasm there.

[...]

"You know, I have some extra clothes that may fit you," Ivo said suddenly, fork twirling through the pasta on his plate. Zurach looked up from the piece of chicken he had been stabbing over and over, and raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Your clothes," the accented man said, gesturing with his fork towards Zurach's hoody, and ignoring the warning signs that Johnson was giving him. "They're filthy."

Zurach's grip subtly tightened on his fork and he forced away a scowl. "Well, you don't look half-bad yourself," he remarked sarcastically, but much to his dismay, Ivo only smiled and took the 'compliment' with open arms.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed happily, "You know, I got these from where we're going now. And-"

Johnson leaned towards Zurach, nudging the Ender dragon with an elbow (Zurach recoiled and nearly jumped five feet in the air). "Hey, just be nice. He's only trying to get to know you, and besides, your clothes look like some wounded soldier's that just dragged themselves out of a mud pit."

"They do not," Zurach said, looking down at his hoody and pants. "I-"

Now, he wasn't a vain creature; Endermen were, but he wasn't. He was above that. But it was then that he noticed the multiple stains of blood and other liquids—and there were more holes in his hoody than he had fingers. His pants were fraying near the feet, and both knees of the jeans were torn. After a moment, he sighed and leaned an elbow on the table, running his fingers through his equally dirty hair. Had he really let himself go like this? "Fine," he said. "As long as it isn't anything grand."

Ivo's lips quirked into a great smile and he nodded, finishing the food in front of him and standing. "I'll go see what I have."

Zurach let out a long sigh, shifting his food around. The alfredo-pasta-or-whatever didn't really appease to him. He needed something fresh, maybe squirming beneath his claws as he ripped its flesh off its bones.

It was then that he decided he would go hunting that night.

[...]

By the time Zurach convinced Ivo that he didn't need anything outrageous to dress in, he had tried four hats, five jackets, seven shirts, and twelve pairs of pants on.

Twelve

Pairs

Of pants.

Twelve.

Finally, Ivo settled on a set of clothes that... Zurach _kinda _liked them. Wait, what was he saying? He hated everything and everyone—no need to go soft the moment a few idiotic, ignorant humans were thrown into his life.

Zurach looked down at the purplish-grey pants he wore, kneeling down to tie one of his boot laces tighter. He had insisted on no shoes, but Ivo had none of that. It was either wear shoes or be thrown off the balloon.

So, he had been dressed in a similar fashion to Johnson; he had a vest, which was long-sleeved and made of tough but flexible black leather, and then a simple white undershirt.

The hat Ivo had tried to force him to wear had promptly been thrown overboard on 'accident'. No way in the Nether was he wearing a hat—shoes were bad enough. But he couldn't blame the wind on carrying his shoes over the rim of the balloon.

That night, as Zurach was struggling not to tear the hammock-for-his-bed to shreds, Johnson took the time to tell him something.

"So, Ivo and Nadia come from a... special group."

"No, really?" Zurach asked sarcastically, wobbling when he tried to shift on the hammock. The gentle rocking of the balloon against the wind threw him off, and he tried to make sure Johnson didn't see him acting like an idiot.

"They're from a dragon-slaying group."

Zurach stilled, blood running into ice. His gaze snapped up; it seemed to brighten into an acidic violet, with the pupils rapidly constricting into that of a snake's. "_What."_

Johnson flinched at his tone and pulled off a boot, still not facing him. "Ivo's father was the one to kill the last dragon."

"What kind of dragon was it?"

"... Ender..."

"You're kidding me, right?"

Johnson was silent. Zurach growled and slid off the hammock, throwing a chair out of his way and storming to the small, circular window that was on one wall. He pushed it open, turning a glowing glare onto Johnson. "Archepell, you better never say anything like that again, or I'm melting this whole damn balloon."

With that, and a strange disfiguration to his shoulder blades that was quickly growing, he pulled himself out the window.

The night air was cold and biting, snapping at his cheeks. He shook it away, not used to the feeling of actual wind (there was none in the End.) With a swirl of purple sparks, the wing membranes that had started to grow from his shoulders snapped out; violet dust enveloped his body and in less than a few seconds, he was a dragon swooping through the sky.

His wings gave a creak of discomfort as he flew underneath the balloon. He actually hadn't used them in a while, opting to hibernate more than do anything else. Even now, the biting cold was making him want to curl up in a warm cave and sleep. But he didn't, because that would be foolish. That was what the End was for.

A shudder ran over his scales; purple sparks flashed from his wings everytime he moved them. tThe purple dapples at the edge of the webbing glowed under the dark, and the pale glow of the moon. He looked around, wings beating once and flattening into a glide.

The only thing that he could see was ocean, ocean, and more ocean. He craned his neck around (nearly hitting his horns on the bottom of the balloon) and scowled back at Windrip. It was a solid mass of dark forest and metal, rearing out of the ocean like an ugly wyrm.

Zurach growled and went back to the ocean, glowing eyes narrowing at the dark shapes of fish beneath the gentle waves. He felt his stomach roll with hunger, but he had to ignore it. The water was not something he could touch and besides, fish was probably not very appealing anyway.

Actually... He _had _had it before, back when there were more of his kind. He remembered his mother coming back through the portal, chands scarred by the water but grinning victoriously when he and his brother cautiously tried out the new food.

It had been amazing, actually. Even now, thinking of it, he was tempted to just go down and snatch some up...

Almost instantly, the thought was spurned and he beat his wings heavily, flipping out from under the balloon and spiraling higher into the sky. But after a moment, an idea occured to him. Frowning at it, he paused, then turned back to the ocean and dropped a few feet in the air. He might as well _try._

Zurach arched his neck and took a deep breath, a growl rolling through his throat. he puled back his lips and opened his jaws wide, wings sweeping back and legs pressed tightly to his underbelly. He brought back his forked tongue and spat; purple, glowing acid splattered out and hit the ocean. It sizzled and sat there for a moment, then slowly fish bobbed to the surface, dead as a doornail.

With a slight grin he swooped down, careful to only put his calws into the water, and snatched up a few of them.

Unbeknownst to him, Johnson had gotten out onto the deck, and was watching him. The human was crouched next to a pile of ropes and a few barrels, trying to make sure he wasn't found.

There was no doubt in his mind that Zurach couldn't melt the balloon. Even though it wasn't fire, like Johnson had imagined, the acid could probably do much worse than kill a few fish that had been swimming in the ocean.

And it hadn't even _touched _the fish.

Johnson shook his head in slight fear, standing up with the intentions to creep back into his cabin. It was probably best to pretend he had never seen it. But just as he turned, Zurach did a huge sweep next to the balloon. He turned sideways, so that his back was to the balloon. And that was when Johnson noticed the horrible scar that marked his dark scales. It ran down from the base of his neck, curving slightly around the joint where his wing grew from, and down his back.

Johnson frowned and went to the railing, leaning over slightly to get a better view. The scales aruound the scars were clustered and a slightly lighter shade than the rest, and the wing that the scar nearly maimed was ever-so-slightly slower than the other.

A realiztion hit Johnson and he nearly stumbled backwards, gasping softly.

Something had done that. It wasn't a burn mark (or water mark), but it looked as if a sword had actually been dragged through his scales. And Johnson knew that practically nothing could penetrate those scales, so whatever had made that scar had to be _powerful._

But what (or who) oculd have done that?

With a strange feeling in his stomach, and a tightening chest, Johnson turned and quickly went back to his cabin. He had the feeling that he had seen something he wasn't supposed to see, but he couldn't really determine what it was.


End file.
